


Missing You

by DarthSuki



Category: RWBY
Genre: Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Teasing, dfab!reader, just a wee bit tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 16:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: “The man you’re referring to,” Ironwood repeats, slowly stepping around the desk until he is in front of you, leaning back against the edge of its surface. “Is he a good kisser?”After a moment to catch the meaning in his question, you feel a smile working upon your lips once more.“I actually don’t recall how good he was,” you tilt your head to the side and glance up at him through your eyelashes, challenge clear in your words. “Perhaps I should be reminded?”





	Missing You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CookiesAreSoHot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookiesAreSoHot/gifts).



> Written for [Iamanemotionaltimebomb](https://iamanemotionaltimebomb.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! :D

The winds of Atlas were coldest when one wasn’t prepared for them. As someone who was not native to the region, they always seemed to hit you hardest of all no matter the layers you wore to stave away the biting chill. Down to the bones the cold seemed to worm, leaving you shivering and shaking from the moment you stepped off of the ship to far after you found yourself welcomed into the heated office of General Ironwood.

Well. Not  _ General  _ Ironwood to you, but to near-everyone else in Atlas. A man who could instill discipline and perhaps even fear with one look as cold as the snowflakes swirling on the wind. 

To you, the man is simply James. To you, he is your partner, romantic, though sometimes insecurity leaves you feeling as if it’s less than that. He is the headmaster of the Atlas Academy and a general in the Atlesian Army, after all, positions of no less power than prestige that follow the man wherever he goes.

The two of you greet eachother with a nod and a smile when one of the soldiers lead you to his office. The gesture is curt, almost empty if one was to see it from afar, realizing not of the warmth shared in your gazes from being so many months apart from one another.

He ushers you into his office with few words, though you hardly need to be invited or shown the way in--you’ve grown familiar with his space, have shared a countless number of memories with him in all the ways it had changed over his years of military experience and guidance of the region’s school.

His confession of love, your first kiss, first argument, first many of things--some of which you recount with heat tinged along your cheeks.

“I trust that your trip went without issue?” The man asks gently. You feel his hands shift over your shoulders to tug the thick coat off, though you still needed to slip off the second layer before you felt comfortable enough to be indoors--Ironwood took both and set them on the hook beside the door, leaving you to take a spot at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“No more than what was expected,” you say with a smile, shifting into a comfortable position. “Some rough waves here and there, but the crew was sweet to me.”

“Not too sweet, I hope.”

You catch a glimpse of the man’s smile as he steps around his desk, taking a seat finally at his own chair across from you.

“As lovely as they were, none of them quite compared to the man I’ve been missing for the last three months.”

“Oh?” Ironwood said, tone soft and brows raising. “Whomever might this man be?”

He leans forward, his expression turning almost overly-stern and his hands joining just in front of his lips--though the glimmer in his eyes gave away the smile you couldn’t otherwise technically see.

You don’t even try to hide the quirk of your lips. Though three months had been filled with plenty of calls and letters, it was still a three months you didn’t get to physically see him--too dangerous, he had explained. Atlas was in a state of chaos after what had happened to Beacon, and he had been so busy trying to keep everything from falling apart. 

It had taken him so long in order to get your paperwork through, hurried as much as it was due to your relationship with him, and each day had felt like an eternity.

To amuse him with even such a soft, teasing game felt like more than you could have ever wanted just a few weeks before.

“He’s quite handsome,” you begin, tapping one finger to your chin in thoughfulness. “Strong, valiant, smart, funny…”

“I don’t know about funny.”

You peer over to the general for a moment, one brow raised as if with argument. 

“Oh, very funny,” the words are little more than a giggle as they spill from your lips. “I assure you--he can light up the room for me the moment he walks in the door.”

Ironwood nods to himself, expression oddly holding despite the fact that you’ve longed for him to hold you close many moments ago.

“Well, this man of yours,” He takes in a slow breath and pushes himself up out of the chair, the motion so serious and slow that you almost worry if you’ve misread the teasing. Ironwood looks at you after a moment, his eyes so vibrant, staring so deep into your heart. 

“Is he a good kisser?”

“Excuse me?”

“The man you’re referring to,” Ironwood repeats, slowly stepping around the desk until he is in front of you, leaning back against the edge of its surface. “Is he a good kisser or not?”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

After a moment, you feel the smile working upon your lips once more. 

“I actually don’t recall how good he was,” you tilt your head to the side and glance up at him through your eyelashes, challenge clear in your words. “Perhaps I should be reminded?”

* * *

It doesn’t take very long before the clothes start to come off. Despite all the buttons and zippers and latches, all the ways in which clothes can be kept on a person’s body, you find the layers dropping to the floor with relative ease. It breaks apart your and Ironwood’s lips just often enough so that you’re able to catch a breath, get a glance at how wonderful he looks flushed and needy, his hands at your hips and his mouth nipping along your jaw and chin, then once more to your lips to kiss you again.

“James,” You murmur against the man’s lips, barely able to keep your thoughts together when you feel him lift you up and encourage your legs around his waist. “I actually--I have a question--a question for you before--”

You don’t get much of a chance to finish your words before you feel yourself set upon the flat surface of Ironwood’s work desk, his body then pulling away from you, just enough so that your eyes can meet and your breath can catch up to the rest of you.

The man doesn’t say anything, but his look and expression is enough to show that he’s waiting for the question--making no move to continue or press you forward. 

“I wanted to ask about…about your relationship….with uh...” You feel a stone in your throat as the words try to find their way out, making it hard to speak, harder still to think under the man’s hard gaze. It’s not that he’s making it difficult for you to speak--it’s simply that it’s hard to come up with the words. 

“My relationship with who?”

You press your lips together into a firm line, stomach twisting on itself.

“With uh,” the words feel as awkward as they sound. “You and….Glynda. And Qrow.”

Ironwood blinks. After a moment, he blinks again, his expression surprised and seeming at a bit of a loss for words. The moment shifts far from what had been building up, despite the fact that both of you are half-naked and your clothes strewn across the office floor.

A few breaths pass between your lips before anxiety begins to take hold, rendering you practically mute. What kind of question was that even? And right now, of all times? Couldn’t it have waited?

You find yourself growing more and more fearful for the weight of the odd question, almost ready to pull away from James entirely before you feel one of his hands reach up and press against your cheek--its metal, cool to the touch, but you reach your hands up to lovingly hold it close to your face all the same.

“...I know they’re important to you,” you start, words so soft you wonder if he can even hear them falling from your lips. “I just...Wanted to know. Like. How do I compare?”

Because they are strong, you want to stay. Because they are interesting and important people--because you are afraid he cares about them more deeply than he does for you, and if there was something you were doing wrong; was there something you could do more?

Ironwood blinks for a countless time, watching you in such an intimate, fragile moment--you’re not quite sure what he’s about to say yet you try to prepare for anything.

But you hardly expect his response to be a kiss.

His lips to yours is warm and ginger, as if afraid to break you.

“Glynda and Crow are people dear to me in every way,” he begins softly. “But you are precious and wonderful in ways I don’t see of them. They truly don’t push my buttons quite like you do, my dear.”

His words are hot and breathy, warm against your skin as his lips trail half-made kisses across your jaw and down your throat until he is murmuring into your collarbone 

It is careful, but you yearn not for careful touches. The comfort seems to embolden you, to remind you that it is not fleeting kisses that have brought you here to him, but a yearning for love and comfort no other person can or could ever give you. Dreams of pressing bodies and biting kisses, of hands digging into skin and metal as pleasure crests over the both of you

Suffice to say, gentle isn’t something you’re quite looking for.

You take in a breath and let it out. Slowly. Your hands reach up to cup the mans face, relief and need evidence enough in your eyes.

“I push your buttons?”

There’s no hiding the mischief in the words, the question that slides through the air between you two. You’ve heard him describe your relationship and love in a number of ways, but never once has he so playfully teased you like this--a description you’re not apt to forget. 

Whatever it is, it surely brings a beautiful flush to Ironwood’s face. His cheeks go rosy and his eyes widen just a touch--all before it fades back into a look of familiar confidence and, oh, no--you much preferred that look before. That was an  _ adorable  _ look on his face.

“I suppose you know just how to wind me up,” James murmurs as he lays his lips back to your skin, a kiss up your throat before his words caress over your lips. “I’ve never met another person who can quite rile me the way that you do, my dear.”

“Oh?”

You feel a smirk begin to pull at your lips, insecurity gone as the moment of vulnerability over James’ face all but fills your mind’s eye. It was such a quick moment, a flash of shock, a look so truly genuine that you can’t help but feel proud to have made it happen.

And you want to see it again.

“I should feel rather special then,” you murmur, arms winding around the man’s shoulders and tugging him close. “I wonder if anyone’s gotten to hear a confession like that from you.”

“Not a soul,” James promises, pressing his hips forward--you can feel the needy, heated shape of his need against you even through several layers of clothes. 

It doesn’t take long to strip yourselves down to nothing, tossing each article of clothing across the room with little care for wherever it may land. When the two of you are left with nothing but bare skin and heated glances he presses against you--there’s no denying the need that lays in James’ touch on you, nor is there an ounce of regret when your fingers dig into the flesh of his shoulder and scratch against the metal of the other.

You force him closer as a smirk pulls harder still at your lips. Even through the look of lust that paints over your lovers face, you can see the surprise, the shock, the soft hue of red that paints over his cheeks--perhaps you would have to take control in the bedroom more often if but the simplest aggression of need were taken in such a way.

“Then fuck me like you mean it.”

An energy swirls in your belly when you catch the near-missable widen of Ironwood’s eyes. The hitch of his breath. The twitch of his cock as it presses against your heat. So many things that could have been missed if you weren’t looking for them--so many things you want to see more of. It fans your lust like a fire, turning it into a full-fledged blaze of need that you can scarcely put out.

“Fuck me like I’m yours, James--” your hips tilt and grind against his. “--like I belong to nobody else but you right now.”

For as much of the shock you see in the man’s soft eyes, there is plenty of room left for the passion that quickly overtakes him. Needy hands and biting teeth mark your skin with no shortage of lust, it drives you past what little sense of restraint that remains somewhere in the back of your head (but it’s  _ glorious _ ). You scratch at metal and flesh as the need twists in the pit of your stomach.

“More,” you command, a whisper against the shell of your lovers ear.

It’s just a word, a single word, but you can feel the twitch of his cock and the shift of his hands as they move to your hips and--ah yes, the look on his face looks absolutely lovely. You’re able to catch but a glimpse as the two of your bodies move together, a wave of passion and heat that cultivates into a fire burning bright between you. 

You feel him enter your body in one smooth motion, cock opening your wet folds and sliding deep into your body--inch after glorious inch until he can go no deeper.

Moans slip from both of your lips, until both of you are lost to words and wrapped only in pleasure.

“ _ More _ .” 

The command is hot and hissed, a fervent word holding so much weight that you practically feel James shudder in response. 

All he can do is nod, his cheeks a rosy shade of red, his hips starting up in a rough, quick pace that leaves the desk shaking beneath you. Without pause are you captured in the euphoria of it all, the intimacy and raw pleasure brought only by sex with the man you cared about most--feeling his hands on your skin and his lips and teeth against your throat, marking you up for as much as he cares to do.

Because you are his.

Insecurity leaks from you with every thrust, confidence taking its place with every word of command you murmur in his ear--every hot moan of ‘more’ and ‘faster’ or ‘please’. James offers no argument, no wit, just simple acceptance and obedience to your desires. You feel the world around you swirl with a raging fire of lust, stomach tight and legs wound tighter around him.

The pleasure grows

Higher

Higher

And then-

It all comes undone around you.

The pleasure falls like a snowflake twirling in the wind, slowly meandering its way down to the earth. You can feel the man slump against you, slightly, though pressing most of his weight onto one hand next to your hip so that he doesn’t almost crush you.

“James-” you begin to say, whisper soft and empty of energy, but he doesn’t even let you utter another word.

His kiss is too beautiful, too honest-

Too loving.

“I love you,” he finally murmurs against your lips. “Only you. Always you. Nobody else.”


End file.
